First Glance
by claire of queenscove
Summary: Multiple drabbles focusing on the second generation. Mainly Alan&Lianne, but also Liam, Jasson, Aly, Thom, Roald, Kally and Vania. Friendships, young love, fights, adventures, daydreams... CH.5: The Conté clan comes down with the pox. Hilarity ensues.
1. Playing House

Author's Note: In an attempt to dive back in to The Rose of Conte, here is a one-shot glance into the childhood friendship of Alan and Lianne. It's shory and sweet. Review 

Playtime

"Drink your tea Alan or I'm going to tell your mama."

"There's nothing in the cup Lee, how am I supposed to drink it?"

"That's the whole point of playing pretend. Now drink!"

7 year old Alan of Pirate's Swoop and Olau sighed and dutifully pretended to drink his pretend tea. He knew that if his mama could see him right now she would be absolutely furious. He was wearing one of Lianne's pink dresses that was far too small for him, and had a tiara in his messy blonde curls. He also had rouge on his cheeks and bright red lipstick. That was the last time he would bet against his best friend's little sister. How was he supposed to know that she was that good at archery? The bow was almost as big as her!

Lianne smiled and pretended to eat a pretend scone. Alan was her favorite playmate although she would never admit it to anyone. He made her laugh, and she knew that he secretly loved playing dress-up with her…no matter what he said.

At that moment, Lianne's little brother Jasson toddled into the room. His eyes lit up when he saw her. "Lee!" he cried, and immediately attached his tiny arms around her leg.

"Time to play house!" she announced to Alan with a huge grin on her face.

"Oh goody," he replied. "My favorite game of all."

"Ok now I'm the mommy, you're the daddy, and Jasson is our baby." She tried to pick Jasson up and ended up flat on her back.

"Lee, fun fun fun!" He clapped his hands in glee.

"Now come here Jasson, it's time to feed you," Alan said in a grown up voice. Picking him up, he eyed his tousle-haired friend on the floor. "Mommy needs a rest. Now do you want frog legs or chicken feet?"

"Eww gross. I don't like!" Jasson wrinkled his nose in distaste.

After explaining to the youngest prince how to perfect the art of "pretend eating," he left him at the table and walked over to where Lianne sat cross-legged on the ground, watching her baby brother.

"He's gotten so big," she sighed. "It feels like yesterday he was just a tiny baby, all red-faced and ugly and crying."

"Lee, I think all babies look like that. You probably looked like that too!"

"You aren't allowed to say that!" she exclaimed indignantly. "You're my husband!"

"Aw, Lee I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just saying that you were ugly too once."

"Once?"

"Well yeah. I mean you're beautiful now!"

A big smile lit up her face. "Really? You promise?"

"I promise Lee. I would never ever lie to you."

"And you really are sorry you called me ugly?" Her lower lip went out as she pouted.

"Very very sorry," he replied.

"Good!" She grabbed both his cheeks and kissed him right on the lips. "Mommy and daddy do that all the time after they fight. Now we've kissed and made up." Her hands were still on his face when they heard someone clear their throat from the doorframe. It was Alan's mother, more commonly known in Tortall as Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, the Lioness and King's Champion.

"Aunt Alanna!" Lianne cried as she and Jasson ran to give her a huge hug.

Alan blushed a deep crimson. His mother raised an eyebrow at him over the heads of Lianne and Jasson. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do…


	2. Of Midgets, Mummies, and Bad Poetry

Author's Note: More Alan/Lianne drabble as requested. This one was supposed to include an "occupational hazard" of some sort. Here we see that a royal ball, and being a princess for that matter, is not always all that its cracked up to be.

Of Midgets, Mummies, and Bad Poetry

Lianne was dancing gracefully across the ballroom floor. Catching Alan's eye, she made a face. Her partner would take no notice of course, considering his height. Or lack thereof. All of his 4 feet and 11 inches didn't quite make it possible for the top of his head to reach her chin. She had also uncomfortably discovered that it gave him a quite excellent view of the region between her belly button and neck.

Alan stifled a laugh, feeling very lucky indeed to be dancing with the lovely Mari of Naxen, whose only fault appeared to be a streak of shyness.

An hour or so later, he caught sight of Lianne again. This time she was being man-handled around the floor by Sir Marc of Irint, known for his bad dancing, bad breath, and bad acne. The pinched look on her face was a tell-tale sign that he had most definitely enjoyed the potato and onion soup at dinner. As Alan twirled and dipped the court beauty Gwyneth of Nond, he again felt very lucky.

Not too long after that, he and Laurel were gliding along in a slow minuet when they heard a cracking voice begin: "Lianne, Lianne you're the fairest in the land. Your eyes are more precious than kittens, and your toes must be warmer than mittens. With your teeth I'd love to be bitten…oh I'm sorry that was too forward wasn't it?" Laurel snorted and Alan just stared, unbelieving, at the poor young lad.

"He sounds like Neal. I swear my brother has driven away more court ladies with his bad poetry than anyone I've ever met."

As the ball was reaching its inevitable end, Alan sat deep in conversation with Liam and Laurel. Laurel broke out into a broad smile, and pointed towards a very tired, cross-looking Lianne. She was now dancing with one of the visiting ambassadors from Tusaine, who appeared to be positively ancient. The dance finally ended, and after curtsying, she all but sprinted towards the table where her friends sat, somehow managing to dodge all offers from would-be suitors.

"Quiet down, you lot," she commanded, seeing their laughter. Alan was almost on the verge of tears.

"I thought you had much better taste than that Lee. I mean he was practically ready to be mummified for Mithros' sake. And don't think I didn't see you having the time of your life earlier with Sir Marc and Sir Midget."

"Very funny Alan. You know perfectly well that as a princess it would be rude to turn down anyone for a dance. No matter what their age, rank, or hygiene level. I'd thank you to feel slightly more pity for me. It's an occupational hazard"

Alan's face turned gravely serious. "In that case, I'm now going to force myself on you. Shall we dance my fair maiden? And perhaps if I'm lucky, you'll give me a little nibble?"

"Not funny, and it isn't his fault that not many words rhyme with kitten! As for a dance, absolutely not. I'm exhausted."

Alan's hand flew to his heart in a shocked manner. "But I thought you could refuse no one?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Exactly. You are no one. So I can refuse you." She grinned mischievously as Alan felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw to his horror "Fatty" Patty of Glaise smiling at him in a truly horrible manner.

"Care to dance Alan? Or has the Princess already claimed you?" Batting her eyelashes, Alan rather thought she resembled some sort of mythical monster ready to devour him. The kraken, perhaps. He shot a desperate glance at Lianne who was looking altogether thrilled.

"No, no Patty. He's all yours," and with a pat on the arm, she turned to sit with her brother and best friend as Alan walked towards the dance floor as though he were marching to Traitor's Hill.

"That was positively cruel Lee," Laurel accused.

"I know," she replied. "But also altogether satisfying don't you agree?"

Liam nodded, knowing that he would be hearing about this for days to come…

A/N: Review? Concrit welcomed. In fact, loved.


	3. Senses

5 Drabbles involving the 5 Senses and our favorite Alan of Pirate's Swoop. Short and sweet, just to appease you until I can update this and the Gary/Cythera one after exams are over --- claireofqueenscove

**Sound**

Alan of Pirate's Swoop was many things, but serious was not one of them. He had a talent for making people laugh, and he reveled in it. His pranks had been known to cross the line a time or two, but his boisterousness was good-natured and fun. Alan was especially prone to making jokes when Laurel of Queenscove was around. The sound of her laughter was like Midwinter bells ringing crisp and clear, and made his heart jump. He wished he could make her laugh forever.

**Sight**

Thayet of Conte was the most gorgeous woman Alan had ever laid eyes upon. Her tousled raven tresses were like silk, her creamy skin made her face resemble that of a porcelain doll, and every movement her lithe body made was graceful and oozed beauty. He watched as she descended the staircase, her brilliant eyes flashing around the room, taking the scene in. She arched her back and tossed her hair over one shoulder, bringing a shortage of breath to every man in her vicinity. Alan drank the sight of her in, knowing who would play the prominent role in his dreams that evening.

**Smell**

Honeysuckle, fireflies, and warm summer nights; vanilla, home-made sweets, and fresh, country air. Those are but a few of the things to describe the scent, thought Alan as he moved deftly around the dance floor. Mari of Naxen wasn't much of a talker, but she smelled of innocence, youth, and true love. He wanted to bury his face in her curls and inhale her very essence. He settled for twirling her around, and keeping her close for a few minutes longer.

**Taste**

Her crimson lips curved invitingly towards him as Alan bent in closer towards the lovely blonde woman standing before him. A soft moan escaped Gwyneth of Nond's mouth before their lips met. She tasted like pomegranates, red grapes, freedom, and sexuality. The sweet taste of her kiss would linger in his mouth for days, making him smile when he least expected it.

**Touch**

"Why do you have to upset me so?" she yelled at him, enraged. "You're infuriating, Alan!" With that, she reached her small hand up and slapped him hard across the cheek. The skin where she made contact with him tingled as if on fire. Her eyes seemed to crackle with electricity from her frustration. 'Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" she screamed, her anger increasing exponentially. Lianne of Conte reached out to slap him again, but this time he caught her tiny hand before it could reach its destination. He subconsciously intertwined his fingers with hers as he pulled it down, saying, "Please don't do that again, Lee." He felt a light blush creeping into his cheeks as he realized his hand was still holding hers, but neither of them seemed able to pull away. This stalemate lasted a few extended seconds before he finally broke the connection, dropping her hand as if it had badly burnt him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled incoherently as he ran away, not wanting to linger on how perfectly her hand had fit in his. Little did he know that just that thought would haunt him for a long time to come.


	4. A Necessary Conversation

_A Necessary Conversation_

It was possibly the most thrilling moment of 10-year-old Roald's life. It was also possibly the shortest. Roald, in an uncharacteristic moment of courage stemming from the dare issued by Thom and the doubting smirk on Kalasin's face had actually done it. He was kissing someone. A girl to be exact. A frightened, thoroughly overwhelmed servant girl to be painfully precise.

However, unfortunate though it was for everyone involved, King Jonathan IV of Contè had chosen that small window of time to sneak away from a rather boring meeting about military things to get a midafternoon snack. So it was that the King of the realm of Tortall was sneaking through back passages, making his merry way to the kitchens, when he stumbled upon quite the sight: his eldest son, the heir to the throne, kissing what appeared to be a quite unwilling servant girl on the lips! Several seconds elapsed before Kalasin noticed the shocked man standing in the hall. A scream escaped her lips and the whole party fled, including the servant girl.

Roald, who had been quite preoccupied, was a bit slower than the rest of his siblings and friends, and nearly choked to death when a large hand grabbed him by the shirt collar, abruptly ending all plans of retreat.

"Dad, ow, could you – umph." Roald had been deposited on the ground at Jonathan's nicely polished shoes.

"Be thankful that I'm hungry and will deal with you later. My office, 8th bell. Do not be late."

With that, the young boy scampered off to kill Thom of Pirate's Swoop and outlaw any further games involving dares.

XXXXX

A sheepish Roald entered his father's office 10 minutes before the 8th bell to find both of his parents in a heated argument that stopped abruptly when he shut the door behind him.

His father spoke first, clearing his throat rather loudly. "Now, son, as you know, there are certain basic….rules of nature in regards to…er men and women and their relationships –"

He was cut off by an exasperated-looking Thayet. "Look, darling, what your father is trying very hard to say"- she shot a glare in Jon's direction – "is that it's time for you to learn the facts of life."

Roald blushed a deep crimson. "Mom, dad, I know what-"

"No, no, son, it's quite alright," his father interrupted. "Not every young man is as knowledgeable as I was at your age." Chuckling to himself, he added, "Although I would have made sure the girl was at least willing before I tried any hanky panky-"

"JONATHAN! Enough! Clearly you are ill-equipped to talk about this sort of thing with our very impressionable young -"

"Ill-equipped? Woman, how dare you say that to me when I clearly have more experience in that…department…than half of the man in this Palace put-"

"Clearly I am in no position to argue with that statement if you were such a womanizer that-"

"You wish I was a womanizer!"

Silence. Roald, very confused and alarmed by the exchange occurring between his parents tried very hard to imperceptibly back towards the door.

His mother's tone was icy. "I do not hold past actions with certain very good friends of ours against you and I-"

"Are you still harping on that? That was a good decade ago and –"

"DECADE? Jonathan we have been married for almost 15 years now, you can't possibly be implicating that –"

"You know how I hate it when you combine big words and numbers in the same sentences, Thayet. Now if we could just calm down and see this from –"

"You want me to calm down when you have possibly had inappropriate relations –"

"I never said that and you can't prove it!"

"You bastard, I swear to the goddess I will cut off your –"

That was the last thing Roald heard as he quietly shut the door behind him.

_Man, oh man. At this rate, I'm never going to learn where babies come from._

A/N: Review!


	5. Of Pox and Pranks

Of Pox and Pranks

It was one of those cool, crisp Autumn days when everything seems perfect in the world. The sun was shining, the leaves on the trees were reflecting the light in brilliant russets and golds, and everyone in Corus was going about their business with a contented smile on their face.

Everyone, that is, but 7 year-old Jasson of Conté. No, he just had to go and come down with the Pox whilst his older brothers and sisters were outside romping in the glorious weather. Of course this would happen to him. The youngest of the large Conté clan, discounting the new baby that would be arriving any day, he was lounging miserably in his mother and father's large, overly comfortable bed, staring out the window and fervently wishing he was anywhere but there.

Jasson could still see the mirth in Lianne's eyes when she had ducked her head in that morning to gloat about the fun adventures she and Liam had planned for the day. At the moment, she was the bane of his young existence.

Sighing in defeat, he lay back and began counting the stones in the ceiling when the door to the room was suddenly thrown open.

Jasson could hardly contain his glee when he saw before him both Lianne and Liam, bearing the unmistakable marks of the Pox. He couldn't believe his own luck – not only could he ruthlessly make fun of Lee now, but he had two companions now to entertain him. Liam slouched over to the bed at the behest of Duke Baird, and Lianne grouchily followed suit.

"Now, children, you all know the only cure for the Pox is rest and lots of it. So I expect no tomfoolery until you lot get better," Baird lectured. "Gods help us if I know what bored royal children can get themselves into," he muttered to himself while he shut the door behind him. Oh how right he was.

Two days later, when 14 year-old Kalasin caught it as well, they were all rather unceremoniously moved back to their suite of rooms. No need to be isolated now that all of them had it. A very cranky Kally tried with no avail to wrest her other siblings out of boredom by the time day 6 had come around. Having told all the stories they could think of and played all the games in their possession, the doldrums were setting in.

"But what can we do now?" whined Jasson. "You don't have **any** other stories Kally? I like yours best, Liam's are boring," he finished, sticking his tongue out at his elder brother.

"Boring? Well at least they're more interesting than anything you have to say. You're just a **baby**," Liam teased in return. The emphasis on the word baby also roused Jasson's fiery temper, and the two were near a full wrestling match before Lianne interjected, rolling her eyes at their animal-like behavior.

"What about…a prank?" she asked the other three with a glint of mischief in her eye.

This stopped the two boys from tearing each other limb from limb. "A prank?" Jasson asked in interest. "What kind of a prank?"

"Well first we have to pick a target," Lianne replied vaguely.

"Naturally, sister dear," Liam replied with a slight bite of sarcasm. "But what will we do?"

Lianne blushed a bit at Liam's tone. "Well that all depends on who we choose. We don't want to get in **real** trouble."

"Hmm…" Kally lost herself in thought for a moment. "Well it can't be Mother as she's practically giving birth already. That would be cruel, and Daddy's too stressed having to handle all of his work plus Mum's. He would punish us for sure." She paused, wrinkling her nose and tapping one finger on her lips. "What about Uncle Gary?" she finally asked, looking at the others for confirmation.

"Oh yes, Uncle Gary! Daddy said he played plenty of pranks when they were younger, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Lianne affirmed.

"Uncle Gary it is!" Liam added, with Jasson enthusiastically nodding his agreement. "Now what to do…"

The four Conté children all huddled together to plan the best prank of all time.

--

_Gods all blast_, Gareth the Younger of Naxen thought to himself as he shook the mud off his boots. It was one of those abysmally rainy fall days, where winter appeared to be right around the corner. He was wet, wind-whipped, and exhausted from his journey into the Lower City to do some errands for the "official" Royal Spymaster, Myles of Olau. All he wanted at the moment was a blazing fire, a mug of hot cider, and a pile of paperwork.

Gary entered his office after drying off and changing clothes in his rooms, glad to see someone had already thought of all three of these. Sitting down in his chair, he took a long swig of cider when he heard something like a pebble hit his window. He made to get up, but when he tried, he realized his bottom was glued to the chair…literally. Flustered, Gary tried again to stand up, but the effort was useless. Someone had put fresh glue on the seat of his chair! Angry now, Gary made a final effort, and with a satisfying ripping sound, the fabric on the back of his breeches ripped from his bottom down to the backs of his knees.

It was at this unfortunate moment that King Jonathan of Conté knocked once before entering the room to find a rather peeved Gary twisting his neck to get a better look at the damage. Stopping in his tracks, mouth agape, the two men stared at each other while Gary tried to find words of explanation. "So I came by to get those documents…" Jon's voice trailed off as four distinct sets of giggles could be heard coming from the doorframe. Furious, Gary lunged at the Conté children, forgetting that the flaps of his pants were still connected to the chair. Gary, chair, and King who happened to be in the way all proceeded to crash ungracefully to the ground as the giggles only increased ever more.

Sir Raoul, who happened to be on his way to visit his old friend, saw four heads of coal-black hair, and knew something was wrong. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced in and immediately his eyes filled with tears of mirth as he gathered the children in a huge bearhug. Jon glared daggers at him as he tried to disengage himself from both Gary and the chair. He got his balance only to trip again while spluttering threats at all five of them.

Needless to say, Kalasin, Liam, Lianne, and Jasson were forced to spend the next week of their confinement and the two weeks following in their rooms, confined to the grounds with no visitors allowed. Raoul, for his part in the merriment, was present at the next three balls.

To this day, Gary checks his chair before sitting down, and Jonathan always waits for him to answer the door before walking in.

A/N: Review!!


End file.
